


sloth

by blondeslytherin



Series: seven deadly sins [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Emotional, Gay Keith (Voltron), Love, M/M, Morning After, Morning Sex, Porn With Plot, handjobs, keith cries during sex, soft, talks of love, there's no like top/bottom in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 03:26:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20482082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondeslytherin/pseuds/blondeslytherin
Summary: sloth: reluctance to work or make an effort; laziness (it's definitely laziness in this one)~~~Keith wakes up like this: wrapped in a clean sheet, a steady stream of sunlight directly pointed in one eye, and Lance’s arm thrown over his waist. They're facing each other, Lance’s back to the morning window. Keith’s eyes took a moment to focus on the sight in front of him.Lance’s jaw is slack with sleep, mouth open, pearly whites on display. His eyelashes flutter with whatever dream he's having, and Keith wonders briefly if it was about him. Sunlight turns tan skin bronze, a sharp beam cutting across a defined cheekbone.Love.





	sloth

**Author's Note:**

> so this is soft and domestic and i'm trying to go with the theme of having like the definitions of the sin be the summary, but this one doesn't ~quite~ fit unless we're looking below the surface and saying "hmm yes wow okay thank you" but it's mainly lazy mornings lol. 
> 
> anyways!! i hope you enjoy!! comments and kudos are loved and appreciated!!!

Keith wakes up like this: wrapped in a clean sheet, a steady stream of sunlight directly pointed in one eye, and Lance’s arm thrown over his waist. They’re facing each other, Lance’s back to the morning window. Keith’s eyes take a moment to focus on the sight in front of him.

Lance’s jaw is slack with sleep, mouth open, pearly whites on display. His eyelashes flutter with whatever dream he’s having, and Keith wonders briefly if it’s about him. Sunlight turns tan skin bronze, a sharp beam cutting across a defined cheekbone.

_Love_.

Lance _loves _him.

Lance loves _him_.

His fingers tighten on the arm Lance has thrown over his waist, toes curling. Not a single part of them isn’t touching, bare skin on bare skin, and somehow Keith still has the desire to be closer.

_I love you_, Lance had said to him.

Keith thinks back to the night before, eyes still focused on Lance’s face but mind wandering.

Lance had immediately panicked the moment the words had come out of his mouth. “Was that too soon? Oh god I’m such a cliché we just had sex and now I’m professing my love and you probably think it’s all sex related, but I promise you it isn’t. I’m pretty sure it was way too soon based on the look on your face. Shit shit shit fuck, have I just fucked everything up?” There was a wild, crazy look in his blue eyes, and at one point, Lance had looked close to tears.

The entire time Keith had laid there, propped up on one elbow and mouth hanging open. His mind was still trying to compute what Lance had just said to him.

_Lance loves me_.

Lance dropped Keith’s hand in favor of running it through his hair. It now stuck up in every direction, looking just as crazy as Lance sounded.

He was staring off into the distance and all Keith could do was stare at him.

_Love._

_Love love love love love love—_

_Me. _

Lance.

Lance loves him.

As in active, presently, loving. Him.

“No,” Lance suddenly said, swinging his head around and focusing on Keith again. Keith fought back the urge to flinch. “No. I mean it. 100% I mean it and it’s definitely not just because we had amazing, mind-blowing sex. I love you for you. Not just your ass.”

There must have been some look on his face because Lance’s expression took on another form, and the hand that had been pushing his hair in all directions found Keith’s under the covers once more.

“Hey,” he said, gently. “Just because I mean it and I’m ready to say it now doesn’t mean you have to say it in return. Take whatever time you need. I’m not about to pressure you into saying something you’re not ready to say. So just…” Lance met his eyes. “Just know that I love you.”

He can’t speak. His throat was clogged with something—emotion?—and everything about this felt too real, too perfect to be true.

And it was.

He’s back in the present, jolted by Lance’s legs squeezing Keith’s thigh. It’s an involuntary motion—the dredges of sleep still have Lance. Keith raises the hand that had been on Lance’s slowly, so as not to wake him. His index finger traces the outline of Lance’s face, from the center of his forehead down to the dip of his temple, skating lightly over his eyelid. Rubs his thumb over Lance’s sharp cheekbone, mapping his way over his cheek, before dusting over Lance’s lower lip, jutting out and so pink.

Keith thinks about all the times he spent longing for that mouth, to have it devour him and to hear those words—those three perfect words—said to him, for him.

Lance loved easily. Keith knew that. He loved peanut butter and banana slices on white bread. He loved rainstorms and watching the windows fog. The way the air felt after the thunder had rolled through and Keith loved the way he breathed like it was the first time he had ever done so. Lance loved the little kids that ran through the hallways and their laughter late at night—especially when Keith got annoyed. He loved everything.

Keith’s thumb lingers on Lance’s mouth.

He had no doubt that Lance loved him, in some form. But was his love beyond that of rainstorms and peanut butter? Was it beyond the artificial, spurred by more than sheer affection?

How could Lance say it and mean it?

He’s heard Lance tell Allura that he loved her. Everyone’s heard it.

But Keith roomed with Lance in college. He knows how quickly Lance fell in and out of love with Nyma. He knows that Lance got his heart broken quite a bit and always seemed to bounce back so quickly, finding someone new to give his affections to.

He knows Lance.

He knows Lance loves him.

So why can’t he believe it?

Long, black eyelashes flutter open, deep blue blinks with sleep. They’re hazy, unfocused, the remnants of sleep clinging to the corners of his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” Keith says. And he is. Lance is absolutely stunning, framed like this in the sun. His heart hammers with the truth he can’t say, looking at Lance like the sun was made to shine just for him, just in this moment.

“Thank you,” Lance whispers. “You’re quite stunning yourself.”

_No!_ Keith wants to shout. _No, Lance, you don’t understand. You’re perfect. You’re everything. You’re so much more than twenty-six letters can describe. You’re my future. My past my present and my future. I would take the sun out of the sky if only you would understand how much mean to me in this moment, and in every moment._

But Keith can’t say that. He can’t tell Lance he—he can’t even think the words. So how can he say all that?

He tries, for the record. He shifts them close enough so that he can kiss Lance’s perfect mouth, put every word he can’t say into his lips and hopes silence is enough.

Warm tongues and warm sheets and warm hands wake him the rest of the way up, and the space Keith had longed to close gets a little bit nearer to disappearing entirely. He’s pretty sure he’ll never be close enough to Lance but damn if he isn’t going to try.

Lance rolls on top of Keith, lining them up, arms framing Keith’s head on the pillow. They kiss and it’s soft; no rush this morning. No heated passion and no ideas that this might be their only shot at getting it right the first time.

_It’s domestic_, Keith thinks.

He never wants this moment to end.

But like all moments, Lance eventually breaks away, leaning his forehead against Keith’s. His eyes are closed and when he opens them, he finds Lance’s heavily lidded gaze focused on his own mouth.

_You have a freckle on your eyelid_, Keith wants to tell him.

“Well that’s one way to start a morning,” is what Keith murmurs instead.

“How are you?” Lance asks.

“A little sore but so happy,” Keith says, flushing at the admission. Morning him had the least amount of filtering, which is why Keith was never a morning person.

Lance kisses him, nothing more than a quick peck, but it chases away the embarrassment. “Good. I’m happy too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His chest feels so full it could burst. A warm, gooey feeling that has nothing to do with the heat between them and everything to do with what isn’t said.

“I’m glad,” he whispers instead, the closest he can come to alleviating some of the pressure.

Lance ducks down again and they’re kissing once more, languid and soft. Keith kisses back, uncaring about the morning breath or the way he still feels a little gross from the night before.

It’s Lance. It’s always been Lance, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

And it always will be.

_But sometimes, the truth is the hardest thing to say, because you don’t get to say it’s false when the words hurt too much._

Sunlight streams in from the cracks in the curtains, falls across Lance’s cheek so that when they break apart again Lance once more looks like something out of a photograph. Blue catches the light and turns fluorescent, sparkling in a way Keith didn’t think was possible. Warm skin looks so soft and touchable that Keith can’t help but reach up and cup Lance’s cheek. Lance leans into his touch, eyes drifting closed and Keith didn’t know it was possible to feel this way about anyone. It wasn’t the sex, or the stupidly amazing dates. It wasn’t the fire in the depths of blue or the giggles in the morning and when he fucked up. It wasn’t him saying it first. It was this—this moment and the softest feeling and the sense of security—feeling like Lance won’t ever leave him. The lack of any desire to run, the feeling of _safe_ in his arms.

_How do you tell someone you love them without saying those words?_

“You’re perfect,” Keith says, and he can barely say it.

Blue cracks open and he’s pretty sure it’s going to put a fissure down his center but he’s not objecting to it, not in the slightest. Lance was ruination and Keith was here in his arms.

He can’t look anywhere but the eyes staring back at him, can’t feel anything other than warmth and Lance and a pounding deep inside.

It’s flipped a switch between them; this time, when Lance kisses him, there’s the barest undercurrent of need, of urgency. It’s a drive for more beyond kissing, but nothing of the intensity last night.

It’s soft and it’s warm and Keith can’t call what happens next just sex.

He feels it too—kissing back in tandem with the pounding between his ribs. Mouths are just as hot as hands and Keith feels fingers, strong and needy, threading through his hair, pulling it back against the pillow. It causes them to separate and Keith immediately knows it was purposeful when Lance’s mouth dives away from his lips to attack his neck. Bruises form over old ones, and Keith keens.

Tenderness. That’s the word Keith has been looking for.

No wonder it took him so long to find it.

They’re pressed so close it’s a struggle to get a hand between them. Somehow Keith manages, and Lance groans, abandoning his neck in favor of tucking his face against Keith’s ear. He pulls on Lance’s dick, flicking his wrist, and Lance reacts immediately, bucking his hips against Keith’s and creating friction that has them both panting.

It’s an awkward angle but Keith’s worked with worse. And honestly, he wouldn’t trade having Lance entirely against him for anything. Because this—this—this—

Lance laughs and Keith’s hand falters in its rhythm. “Oh babe,” Lance says, laughing again, “no that wasn’t bad. It feels so fucking good.”

“Then why’d you laugh?”

“Because you make me feel like a teenager.”

Keith’s hand stops entirely, and he shifts until he can meet Lance’s eye. “I don’t understand.”

It might be the morning sun, but Keith thinks Lance’s cheeks have taken on a pink tint. He sighs, trying to burrow his face into the pillows, but Keith reaches out with his free hand and holds his chin firm.

Lance sighs, grins. “I’m like, stupidly close to coming, and I’m like way too giddy about it. You feel like my first, only the fantasy version.”

Oh.

_Oh. _

“Oh,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Lance whispers back.

He’s entirely forgotten that he was in the middle of a handjob until Lance’s face contorts in pleasure, and Keith realizes he’s subconsciously squeezing his dick.

His other hand leaves Lance’s jaw, and Lance immediately takes the freedom of movement to roll back on top of Keith, slotting their hips together and rolling _up. _They groan in unison, and wow yeah Keith absolutely understands feeling seventeen again because not even the kinkiest sex has ever felt as good as Lance’s dick rubbing up against his in this moment.

They’re shamelessly grinding together, and Keith manages to get a hand around both of them, dicks sliding together. They’re speeding up, and the pounding grows faster and faster and faster and somehow Keith feels _full_ and—

Lance comes, hips stuttering, mouth dropping open into a soft O. His lower lip juts out and Keith closes the distance between them, sucking on it, and he can feel as Lance’s dick pulses.

It’s so much, overwhelming and beating and warm and—

And—

And—

It’s not just sex. When Keith comes he knows it’s not the same anymore, knows there’s no going back to whatever there was before.

It’s not just sex.

It was never just sex, it was never just jealously that made him want Lance this damn much.

But how do you tell someone you love them, when you’ve never loved anyone before?

He doesn’t notice the tears on his face until he’s coming down from his high, Lance’s gentle thumb brushing them away.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Lance murmurs and Keith cries harder, vision blurring. “Keith, love, what is it?”

_I don’t know how to tell you that you’re everything to me. I don’t know how to say that I want to say it back but I don’t know how and I want you to teach me. I don’t know how to tell you that i—_

“It was just intense,” he whispers, blinking. Lance’s worried eyes come into focus, and everything shatters as they form back together.

There’s cum between both of them but Keith doesn’t care as Lance gently lowers himself until they’re as close as possible without Lance crushing Keith. His arms are wrapped around Keith’s thin waist, their foreheads pressed together.

“More intense than last night?” Lance’s mouth barely moves as he asks the question, but it doesn’t need to. They’re so close that Keith’s pretty sure if he thought loud enough Lance would hear it.

“Intense in a different way.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

In another life, Keith would have already been squirming away from whoever he had spent the night with, dragging on his pants and making his escape. In another life, Keith wouldn’t have spent the night to begin with. In another life, in another life, in another life.

But he’s in this one. And in this one the mess between them is inconsequential. In this one, he would stay here forever, everything else be damned. In this one, it’s Lance.

“How did you know you loved me?”

“Love,” Lance corrects immediately. “I am in the present tense, thank you very much, and so is my love.”

“How did you know that you love me, then?” Keith says, heart hammering, hoping that his thoughts are quiet enough to keep to himself.

Lance presses the tips of their noses together, breathes deeply. He’s quiet for a long moment. “How didn’t I know, is the better question,” he says, more to himself than Keith.

“My mami likes to tell me the story of when she was dating my papi. He was twenty-four and she was twenty-one, and he waited every day outside of the bar she worked at to walk her home at three in the morning. It wasn’t a great neighborhood, and my mami always claimed she could take care of herself, but my papi was having none of that. For the longest time, she thought he was pretentious, walking her home every morning when they both knew she was fine on her own. But then one day, he was late to get her, and she realized that while she could have gone home, she waited. She waited for him, and she always smiles at this next part. She said to me, ‘Now I had never seen a man so apologetic in his life. And that was when I knew—he never wanted anything from me, he always just wanted the best _for_ me. That, my darling, is love.’”

Thoughts race through Keith’s head about what that story could mean for them. He hadn’t done anything grand like that for Lance, so there was no way Lance knew that he loved him, not like his parents had.

“So then, why me?” Keith asks, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Because when I look at you, I see everything I never realized was there, right in front of me. I see my past, my present, and my future. I see the boy I would wait for every night if it meant getting to talk to you for even just twenty minutes walking home. And last night, when you looked at me, and talked about dinner. How even after the allergic reaction, you trusted me enough to let me make you food. That was how I knew I loved you.”

“You had a big, grand realization all because I was hungry?” Keith whispers, horror-struck. “Oh my God, Lance, no.”

Lance swats him. “Hey, that’s my love moment! You don’t get to criticize it!”

“I’m not, I’m just—” Keith buries his face in Lance’s neck. “I can’t believe I was thinking about food when you realized you loved—love—me.”

“Well…”

They’re quiet, wrapped around each other.

“It’s okay,” Lance says, breaking the silence. “To not say it back right now. I know nothing ever happens at the same time, especially love. But I just wanted you to know that I do. Because you are so, so deserving of it. But you are so allowed to take whatever time you need.”

Keith blinks away the tears that were actively threatening to escape before pulling back and kissing Lance, putting all the words he couldn’t say into it.

“Thank you, Lance.” It’s there, four letters stuck in his throat. “I care so much about you.”

“I care about you, too.”

There’s an eyelash, resting on Lance’s cheek bone. With gentle fingers, Keith plucks it off, balancing it on the pad of his forefinger.

“Make a wish, love.”

Lance’s mami always said that you put different wishes on different things. Things you wanted to come to you in the next year were for birthday candles. Your small hopes went to pennies in fountains. Wanting something to change was for shooting stars. And for eyelashes? Those were for the fairies; things you knew you were never going to get to keep but wanted anyways.

But no one ever told Keith about the different types of wishes.

So he never knew that making his wish meant that it was almost certainly never going to come true.

_I wish that we never had to leave this moment. That we could be here, forever, in the sunshine and me in his arms. I wish that nothing ever changed from this. _

They didn’t know it yet, not as Keith blew on the eyelash and watched it flutter away. Not as Lance pulled him closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between them. Not as his heart pounded with all the words he had yet to say and let out a soft breath against Lance’s bare chest.

But like all perfect moments, it too came to pass.

**Author's Note:**

> just so y'all know, i Sobbed writing this because apparently it hurts more to write about love than about death which uh, says way too much about me. thank you all for reading and the continued support for this series blows me away. thank you all so, so much. 
> 
> come shout at me @:  
tumblr: blondeslytherin  
insta: blondeslytherin
> 
> thank you!!


End file.
